God's Gone AWOL

[2] Words of Wisdom

Bentley was already drunk by the time Atticus located the bar.

She was sitting alone at an otherwise empty counter, beneath the cool LED lights strung over her head. Taking shot after shot, looking somehow both miserable and pleased at the same time. Both angels and demons naturally had an exceptionally high tolerance for common alcohol, so to get the point of being drunk must have taken Bentley quite an astonishing amount of effort. And she did not seem to show any sign of slowing down.

After downing another glass, Bentley leaned over and hit her head on the wooden counter a couple times. Did she know that there was someone watching her? Possibly. Did she care? Not in the slightest.

Until a hand tapped her on the shoulder.

"Miss, can I see some ID?" asked a random bouncer.

Bentley snapped her head up as though she had been burned by that singular touch. Although he was large, the person standing in front of her was hardly an adult, in his early twenties at most. The poor man clearly had no idea what he was getting into.

"What??" Bentley was so obviously intoxicated, there was no way the bouncer didn't notice.

"It's just— I just noticed you, and you look a little young," The bouncer said politely, "So I'm legally required to ask,"

"Young? If I was any older, I'd be a God. Or an archangel or... somethin',"

"I'm sorry miss, but we have to ask this of anyone who looks under twenty five. It's just the policy here,"

This unfortunate bouncer clearly didn't notice the fact that Bentley's eyes had suddenly started glowing a violent shade of red. Although her expression remained cool, the tilt of her head would have been enough to send any creature from Heaven or Hell scrambling in the opposite direction.

"Fine." She pulled an old, yellowing card from out of nowhere and slapped it down on the counter.

It was an immigration record... from the year 1936.

"There," said Bentley, "Now you know how old I am,"

The bouncer had never had to deal with anything quite like this. The card itself looked genuine, with official national symbols and authentic signatures layered all over, to the point where forgery of such a thing would be nearly impossible. However, the date of birth listed for this young woman in front of him was 1922. That was even more impossible.

"Right. Okay, sorry miss but unless you can give me some real identification, I'll have to escort you out," he said.

"Why? I'm not bothering anybody,"

"Law prohibits underaged drinking unless accompanied by a parent or guardian—"

"Oh for CHRIST'S SAKE!"

"Come on. Let's go." The bouncer reached for her arm, "You've had enough as it is."

However, as soon as his hand approached, Bentley very quickly pulled away. Despite the fact that she was drunk, her expression turned completely serious. The rosy, alcohol induced blush which had just started to light up her face disappeared instantly, making her already pale features look even colder under the lights of the bar.

"Don't you dare touch me," Her voice was dangerously low.

"I'm afraid there's no other way if you're refusing to cooperate—"

That foolish bouncer reached for her arm again. But before he could make any sort of contact, a gentle voice right beside his ear caused him to momentarily freeze in place.

"Here you go, ma'am. I found this outside," said Atticus, handing Bentley a driver's license.

Until this point, he'd been biding his time, watching in amusement as the scene played out. But after things escalated to the point where Bentley might actually cause some serious trouble, he couldn't just stand back anymore. So with the wave of his fingers, he had conjured up some fake identification and intervened before things could get any worse.